Up in Our Bedroom After the War
by realnikkiheat
Summary: He'll admit that he sometimes wondered if all her teasing, all her naughty little tricks and glances, was just for show. But yeah, no, she's definitely going to destroy him. It became official the moment he found her tattoo.


_Here it comes! Here comes the first day!  
It starts up in our bedroom after the war!  
_

-Stars, _'Up in Our Bedroom After the War'_

* * *

_This should be awkward_, Castle thinks.

He's got Beckett up against his bookshelf, legs tight around his waist. At one point they were headed for the bedroom, stumbling through his office, but the journey was taking far too long. Her shy, eager smile, her wet hair, the flash of her breasts where he'd undone her top buttons- he'd wanted all of it _right now_, and so he'd pounced again.

And shouldn't this be awkward? This isn't one of his fictions- it's not a Nikki Heat novel, not even one of the (many, _many_) fantasies he's concocted of their first time. In the real world, shouldn't their first time include tripping over furniture and walking into walls and _ow, my hair _and _you're on my foot_?

But she's pressed right up to the bookshelf- him against her front, Nikki and Rook at her back- and he can feel the heat of her through their jeans, can barely hear his own thoughts over her panting in his ear, so he tosses the question away.

It returns to him later, after, when she's curled against his chest, slowly drifting. They're both breathing unevenly still, their gasps gradually quieting as the storm outside does the same. He's breathing in the scent of her hair- rain and cherries and, faintly, _him_- while she gently strokes her hand up and down his chest. Her touch is feather-light, but potent all the same. It simultaneously brings him down and heats him up all over again.

There should be something unnatural to it all, something foreign; but when he finally slid into her- groaning into her neck as she clenched, burning hot around him- beneath the awe and the lust was something familiar. Even now their silence is comfortable, wrapping around them both and filling the room with a damp stillness. And he's not one to question fate, especially on a night like this, where everything he's ever wanted has literally shown up at his front door. So he sleeps.

* * *

Kate wakes slowly to his lips on her neck- _oh, yes, you can do this now. Why haven't you done this always?_ Before she's even fully awake she's shifting under him, tilting her head and offering him more of her skin. He makes his way up her jaw with sharp little nips that say _we're here_ and _this really happened_ and _this will happen again_ before resting his forehead against hers. His eyes- so close and so dark- are radiating love and want and traces of insecurity (_please don't run, Kate, please don't say this was a mistake, please don't let this be a dream_), but there's a certainty there, too (_you're not leaving, I won't let you, you're mine to keep, now_). It kills her that he has to wonder at all, that she's hurt him so many times, made him doubt her despite his best efforts.

She wants to watch this misgiving, this distrust leave his eyes, wants to push it over the edge for him, so she smiles, wide and warm. Craning her neck up, she ghosts her lips across his, opens her mouth to comfort him and reassure him but all that comes out is-

"_Rick_," gasping and light, barely more than a sigh. It's not what she meant to say at all, but she can see that he understands, that he hears _I'm here_ and _I'm not leaving_ and _I just want you, remember? _on her breath. She kisses him soundly now, her tongue stroking his, her teeth seeking out his soft lips.

She should say more, she knows. At the very least, she should tell him about the roof, about the fact that she's no longer a cop. But those thoughts weigh her down, set a flutter of panic to her edges, ready to move in and consume her. Can't she just have this night? She feels eager and loved and _happy_. And she's proud- proud of herself, that she came to him, opened herself up and showed him the truth of her.

She knows that reality will creep in and ultimately bring her back down, can already feel it waiting in the wings. All her problems, her baggage, the mess she's made of her life- everything is lingering somewhere just beyond her consciousness at the moment, sure to return eventually. But this _joy_ that's overtaking her? She wants to fight for it. Wants to hold it tight inside of her. Wants to build another kind of wall.

She wraps her legs around him, answers his moan with one of her own when their centers meet, and flips them over. She sinks down onto him without preamble, biting her lip and fighting to keep her eyes open, watch the surprise and adoration play over his features. They'll talk later.

* * *

Rick is pretty sure that, at some point, he imagined what it would feel like to have Beckett's mouth around him. And he's pretty sure that reality blows his sad little daydreams out of the water. But he can't be certain, can't quite grasp the thought, because _oh fuck oh Kate oh yes Kate Kate Kate_ is all that's running through his head and where is he, again? What's his name?

He'll admit that he sometimes wondered if all her teasing, all her naughty little tricks and glances, was just for show. But yeah, no, she's definitely going to destroy him. It became official the moment he found her tattoo. Waking up with his _cock in her mouth_ is just confirmation of his inevitable but welcome demise.

The rain has stopped completely now, the air picking up heat in its absence (or maybe that's just her?), and the only noise in the room is the mixture of his moans and the filthy sounds she's making as she tastes him.

She's working him over like a pro- one hand at the base of his shaft, the other playing with his balls while she moans around him. He's got his fingers tangled in her hair, fluttering around her shoulders, trying not to press her down to him or thrust into her but needing to do _something_.

He can feel everything inside of him tightening, his breath barely making its way out in ragged gasps, every single piece of him reduced to the points where her tongue is making contact with his body, and he tries to warn her, tries to groan out her name and push her away.

She hollows her cheeks and _sucks_ in response, and it ends him, blissful and shaking.

When he can open his eyes again and see more than blank, white space, she's returning from the bathroom, positively slinking back into bed beside him with a dirty, proud smirk on her face.

"_Detective_," is all Rick can manage to huff as he pulls her down to face him. He hopes it sounds as appropriately impressed and scandalized as he intends. Her face clouds, though, and she pulls back slightly, looking down and away from him.

"Yeah," she chuckles, but it's dry and brittle, "about that…not so much…" she shakes her head, still staring at her hands, "Not Detective anymore."

He gets the story out of her slowly, waiting quietly as she stalls and starts. Her eyes flick back and forth between the ceiling, her hands, and his face as she tells him everything. The roof. Ryan. Gates. Esposito. What she's done, to herself and to their friends.

"Are you…" he breathes, leaving the question hanging. It's a lot to take in, Kate not being a cop anymore, and he imagines it hasn't quite hit her yet in the same way it's not sinking in for him. Her expression wavers between pride and fear, defiance and uncertainty.

"I don't know," she sighs, voice thick. "I don't know anything," she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "Can we…I'm sorry, but can we not talk about this? Just for right now?" Her voice is quite, ashamed, like she's failed somehow, like she's lost.

She looks back to him and he can see the struggle inside of her, see her fighting to stay above it all. He remembers the smile she gave him at his door, and he nods. He wants to give her this, wants to preserve that brightness in her as long as he can, wishes there were some way-

"Come to the Hamptons with me," he says suddenly. "We'll go away, forget all this for a little while…" His face is lit up, proud, but to his surprise, she rolls onto her back and breathes deeply, her expression darkening.

Her eyes rove around the room as she nods slowly, but it's not the kind of nod he wants to see. It's consideration, not confirmation. He watches her war with herself some more, watches a something- a battle that he's not privy to- play out across her face. There's a long, quiet moment, and he's starting to panic- should he push? Give her space? Has he already gone too far? No, no, because they're done with all this…

But she looks back at him, uneasy but not altogether dismissive.

"How long?"

"A week, a month, all summer," he says quickly. "As long as you want."

A small smile flits across her lips and she nods, more to herself than to him.

"I can do that."

* * *

She's going to the Hamptons with Castle. It should thrill her, but it stings slightly, tugging at an old scar. Not even- a wound, really, that still opens and bleeds when she pays too much attention to it. She can feel the faint memory of her now two-year-old excitement, her hope. Even stronger is the memory of Rick's arm around Gina and the sharp pain in her chest. Her humiliation. Her resolve to never, ever feel that way again.

But she said yes. She made herself say yes. Spending the summer apart from him didn't help, trying to forget he ever existed didn't help, and wrapping herself in the arms of another man certainly didn't help. So maybe this is exactly what she needs. Maybe saying yes to him is the salve that will finally cure the ache that's been pulling at her chest for the past two years. Saying yes, going forward- it's carried her this far, hasn't it?

She stretches lazily, throwing her hands above her head as she waits for Castle to return with water. The sun is barely rising but already there's a stifling heat in the air; all traces of last night's storm have vanished. She's kicked the sheets to the end of the bed and is sprawled out across it, glistening skin and messy hair and scars all on display.

"Finally," she moans, popping up on her elbows as he walks back into the bedroom, as naked and uncaring as she is. "You get lost in there?"

"Checked the weather quickly," he hands her a glass that's half ice; she watches his gaze falter as he's distracted by the play of her throat as she gulps it down.

"And?" She gasps around the rim of her glass, a knowing grin on her face as she turns to place it on the nightstand.

He puts his own glass down on his bedside table and crawls up beside her, one hand propping up his head, his front pressed against her right side. We wiggles his eyebrows and grins, "_We_…are in for a heat wave."

Kate throws her head back and chuckles, low and throaty and so very sexy, before rolling over onto her stomach. She rests her head on her folded arms and lets him brush the hair out of her face.

"Speaking of…" she smiles. "How is my alter-ego?"

"Got left in a bit of a bind," he says softly, his hand leaving her tangled mane to stroke lightly down her back, "but she'll pull through."

"So, Rook…?" Beckett tries to keep her voice light, but it matters to her, the fate of this fictional character, it really does. She remembers the terror, the anxiety, the suffocating shame that clawed at her from the inside out when she finished _Heat Rises_. Remembers sitting in her father's cabin and seeing Rick in her minds' eye, taking a bullet for her. Remembers knowing that he saw the same while writing it.

He hums lightly, eyes bright and a little smug as the stares down at her and lets his hand wander, "Now, that would be a spoiler, and I'm sure you don't want any of those… Wouldn't want to ruin the experience."

She rolls her eyes, "But you know, right?"

"I'm working on the outline," he nods idly. "I'm even almost on schedule. Although…" He pauses, looking thoughtfully somewhere over her shoulder.

"What?"

"I'm just not sure how I'm going to fit a plot around all the sex scenes," Rick smirks, catching her hand as she reaches out to swat at him weakly.

"You and your smut," she rolls her eyes again, shaking her head, but really…well, she's been a fan from the beginning, hasn't she? Spent many a night in her tub with candles, wine, and Richard Castle's words. His books have always enthralled her; the mystery, the characters, everything else…

Now, though, the image changes. Instead of sitting alone in her bathtub, she's got her eyes closed, head titled back against Rick's chest as he cradles her from behind and reads to her. It should be too much, the thought of his voice narrating Nikki and Rook's trysts - it's really a fantasy version of them, after all. But she finds her body thrumming at the thought, want stirring in her once more despite her exhaustion. Their love scenes- _page 105_- have always warmed her, lit a spark in her core even when she swore to herself that she hated him.

But to hear them in _his_ voice? That deep, rich baritone? It will undo her, she's sure. She'll never be able to tell him what his voice does to her; can just imagine the look on his face if she were to confess how many nights she's gotten herself off with her fingers between her legs and his voice in her head.

He must see something on her face, though, because he smirks, one eyebrow raised, and pulls her down on top of him, their noses brushing.

"A little more Nikki Heat in you than I thought, huh?"

Beckett's grin matches his at she presses her lips to his ear.

"Well, _Rook_," she all but growls, taking his earlobe between her teeth and feeling a shudder run through his body, "my safeword is pineapples…"

He flips her then, presses her into the mattress and kisses her _hard_. She laughs against his lips because _of course_.

She always knew he'd be into it.

* * *

Rick makes his way back into the bedroom, hair still wet and wearing only his jeans, smiling down at his phone as he reads Martha's latest message. She'd taken off to the house in the Hamptons straight from Alexis' graduation ceremony for a weekend of fun that he probably didn't want to know anything about. Her last words were to inform him that he was only to contact her in the case of an emergency- _and darling, nothing involving laser tag qualifies as an emergency_. But after his impromptu offer to Kate, he'd rushed to contact his mother under the guise of getting them some water.

_Mother, it's an emergency. I need the house. Something's come up._

_Richard, what sort of emergency could this possibly be? Everything alright?_

_Sorry. Something amazing has come up._

He loves his mother, he really does. Loves how close they've grown since she moved in. Loves the way he can confide in her. Loves the way she's always on his side, always rooting for him. Once he'd briefly explained the situation, her only response had been:

_And you're sure, darling? You're okay?_

_I'm sure. I'm wonderful._

_I'll stay with a girlfriend for the weekend. The house will be all clear by this afternoon_.

He flops onto his back, grinning widely, listening to Kate make her way around his bathroom. He wants to watch her, wants to stand over her shoulder as she gets ready for the day, but she's kicked him out under the pretense that they're short on time and he's a distraction.

She's right. Alexis will be home soon. And he swears, in some part of his brain, his suggestion to shower together really was about saving time; but he's not the only one who's distracting.

He'd been sidetracked (predictably) by her body, wet and soapy and there for the taking like he'd always imagined; by the water slicing down her neck and pooling at her collar bone, begging to be licked off; by the way she'd taken his fingers into her mouth, biting and sucking and he backed her against wall.

And then by the feel of her hands in his hair, massaging gently; the way her head rolled back and she moaned quietly as he returned the favour…

He wants all of that- wants so much from her. His head fills with visions of all his fantasies, all his hopes for their trip (a week, they've settled on, but the summer's only just beginning…), from the lewd to the mundane.

He wants to take her from behind, hands bruising her hips as he sinks his teeth into her neck. He wants to wake her with breakfast in bed, watch her eyes flutter open as the scent of coffee hits her (wants to see a new kind of smile on her face). He wants to go down on her for hours, taste every bit of her until she's a trembling mess beneath his tongue. He wants to sit on the porch in the evening, brushing her hair as she nestles in the crook of his legs, fresh from a late night shower…

"You're sure it's okay that I go?" Kate's voice, soft and hesitant, brings him back. She looks almost like the Kate from last night- same clothes, same wet hair- but he sees so much more of her now.

"Yes," he breathes, sitting back up and holding his hands out to her. She doesn't resist, allows herself to be pulled in between his legs. "I'm sure. You need to see your dad before we leave, and I should talk to Alexis."

"Is she…" Kate pauses and sighs, freeing one of her hands from his and allowing it to wander through his hair. "Will this be okay? Would it be better if I were here? I don't want to," another sigh, "I don't want it to seem like I'm abandoning you, like I'm trying to…run."

The last word is so quiet he barely hears it. Her face is cloudy again, eyes dark and wandering, staring somewhere over his shoulder. He hates this shame he sees, this self-doubt. It reminds him that their one (_perfect_) night doesn't solve everything. There are still things they need to talk about. Still words she hasn't need to find the place where they fit- the place where he fights for her but doesn't smother, the place where she can take her space but won't run.

"Hey," his arms circle her waist, pulling her closer, "it will be fine. Alexis, she…She's protective," he explains, "and she's wary. But she does like you. And more importantly," he assures her, "she knows I love you."

Kate nods to herself, lost in thought again, "I'm willing to work at it. I'm ready. I just…I want her to trust me again. I want her trust me with you."

_Oh, Kate_. The way she says it, like he's something so precious, so dear to her, it breaks his heart and mends it again all at once. It knocks the air out of his chest, so he steals some of hers, pulls her lips to his and drinks her in. When she pulls away, her face is clear again. Her eyes are glancing downward, roaming over his bare chest, and her tongue peaks out between her teeth.

"_Beckett_," he warns, trying his best to sound authoritative, and not like he's begging to be mauled. "_You_ are going to see you dad, and _I_ am putting a shirt on."

She pouts- actually pouts- at him, her full bottom lip jutting out invitingly. And it's worse, so much more tempting now that he knows what those lips taste like, the texture of them beneath his tongue, the little noises she'll make if he nips at them just so.

He leans up and captures her lip in his, sucking on it gently- as if he was ever going to resist. Why even bother pretending?

"If we skip breakfast," she mutters, lip still caught between his teeth, "we've got time to make out like teenagers before we get caught."

She beams at him, pushing him back on the bed and climbing on top, legs around his hips. There's something predatory and dirty in her smile and-

Oh, right. Teenage Beckett. Motor cycle. Tattoo (_never getting over that, by the way_). Wild child.

He doesn't need breakfast. Doesn't ever need to eat again. He'll just live on whatever she's willing to give him.

* * *

When Kate returns to the loft that afternoon, bags packed, Alexis greets her at the door.

"Detective Beckett," the younger woman nods, withdrawn but not altogether cold. Kate wonders if maybe Alexis doesn't know about her resignation, or if the title slips out by force of habit.

"Alexis," Kate breathes back, smiling faintly, trying to, anyways. She's nervous, knows that she has to prove herself, but it's just one more battle she's willing to fight. "You and your dad talk?"

Alexis nods again, stepping back to let Kate into the loft and meeting her eye, searching for something. Kate hopes that she sees it, tries to project whatever the girls is looking for, but she's not quite sure what it is. And she's realized, as of late, that's sometimes (_always_) it's better to just let the words come.

"Alexis, your dad and I…" her eyes dart to the ground quickly, but she's done being a coward, and she looks back at the girl. "I know I've hurt him. And you. And I know it will take time, but I'm ready-"

"He's my dad," Alexis interrupts, as if her words explain everything (and they do, really). Her voice is soft, though, and her gaze has thawed somewhat. "I want," she takes a breath, "I want you guys to have a good trip. Have a good week and do what you need to do. And when you get back, we'll…" she nods, resolute. "We'll all make it work."

Kate has no idea what Rick said to his daughter, how much of a fight was put up, but she's grateful for whatever occurred. She knows Alexis isn't a child she needs to charm, not someone she can win over with tricks. She's a young woman, mature and worried about her father, asking Beckett to earn her approval. And she can. She can work with that.

Beckett smiles at the girl, a bit tentative, but there's a promise in it. One that she intends to keep. And as Castle enters and they say their goodbyes, she thinks she can see an answering promise on Alexis' face. Something that says she's not alone in this.

She stands on the curb, lifting her hair away from her neck as Rick loads their bags into his Ferrari. The air is thick and damp, and she itches to be on the open road, let the wind cool her skin.

His back is turned to her, bent over the trunk, and she takes the opportunity to absorb him. He looks _good_- a black t-shirt that lets her ogle his biceps, jeans that hug his ass. She feels herself warming up again, didn't even know that was possible in this heat.

She just wants him so much now. Constantly. She thought it was bad before, but… It's like everything has risen to the surface, and maybe she didn't even realize how much she felt for him. How badly every part of her needed him. The thought saddens her, that she's kept all this from him and from herself.

She doesn't want to ruin things again. She never wants to burry these feelings again, never wants him to doubt her. But even now, as she fights determinedly to hold onto her happiness, she can feel the uncertainty somewhere inside her. Disbelief that she can do this, that she can love him- yes, _love_ him, of course- and not break him. She's realizing that it's so much harder to trust herself than it is to trust him.

She's not certain even sure of her own emotions- whether these dark thoughts are coming or going- and that's the hardest part. Are they simply the remnants of a wall that used to be inside of her? Scattered bricks that only need to be swept away? Or is this delight, this exhilaration that's been running through her since he slammed her against his front door, simply a momentary reprieve? Will she settle into this contentment, only to have her own insecurities sneak up on her?

Rick's looking at her now, and she knows he can see it, too. All her worries are reflected on his own face and _no_, this is not what she wants. She wants to be better for him. She never wants to see her own troubled thoughts in his eyes.

"Everything okay there, Ricky?" She smirks, trying to draw him into a better place. He blinks once, coming out of…something.

"I just can't believe you're letting me drive," he holds up the keys in his left hand, jingles them. He's smiling, but there's still something behind it, something she doesn't like.

"Well," she sidles right up to him, pressing him against the car and letting her lips rest against his jaw. His body is warm, already damp with perspiration, sweat gathering on his brow, and she finds it all far too alluring, "If you get us there in one piece, I might just have to show you my trick with the ice cubes."

His face lights up, radiating want and affection and trust and _love_.

Magic, indeed.


End file.
